


Cracks

by blacktofade



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Encounters in a car park and the inevitable end of something great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracks

James doesn’t judge his life by his relationships, not in the way a teenage boy does with an arm around his young girlfriend, hand on her hip with the promise of everything he has yet to show her – he’s just not that sort of man. He’s been with a handful of people in his lifetime, comfortable with the normalcy it brings and the feeling of having another at his side to battle the world as two, rather than a solemn, lonesome one. He’s not a romantic in any sense; he’s a realist with an eye on the inevitable end. But until that end appears – slams him in the gut and leaves him drinking alone until two in the morning – he appreciates the little things, like Sunday morning lie-ins, the sound of the shower running while he blinks against the sun streaming in through a crack in the curtains, the feel of a warm body crawling back into bed for another five minutes sleep before the day truly starts.

*

He stays late; doesn’t have to, just waits to delay the inevitability of going home to an empty house. Eventually, he slides the last of the paperwork into his desk drawer and rolls his chair back. His back pops when he stands announcing his age to anyone still around to hear – mainly the cleaning lady who’s tying up bin bags at the far end of the room and the potted plant a few feet from his cubicle. The lift seems to take forever to arrive and he doesn’t know why he still uses it as it clangs and creaks ominously, though maybe it’s his imagination.

As he steps outside, he zips up his jacket and double checks his jean pocket for his car keys.

“I thought you’d left hours ago,” he says, surprised to see Richard slink out of the shadows, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Richard inhales and shakes his head as smoke drifts from his nose.

“I had a few more voiceovers to do. You know what they’re like about those things.”

James feels the corners of his mouth curl upwards as he can only imagine the day Richard’s had, repeating the same line again and again until the words stopped making sense.

“That’s what you get for asking to review the Porsche.”

Richard huffs a laugh and rummages in his pockets, eventually pulling out another cigarette and a lighter. He passes them to James, who takes them without thought, quickly lighting up and tilting his head back to exhale a cloud of smoke into the night sky. He hands the lighter back to Richard and they walk in silence towards the car park.

There’s nothing particularly special about this night, James feels no different, but when they’re standing at James’ Panda and Richard turns to say goodnight and find his own car, James grabs his wrist and tugs him into the shadows walking him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the front bumper and he falls onto the bonnet with a faint protest of metal under his weight. He curves his hand around Richard’s jaw and pulls their mouths together, tasting mirrored smokiness on Richard’s lips. It’s soft, just the faint brush of a kiss, but Richard’s response is immediate as he lets his mouth fall open and James deepens it without even having to think.

This is not the first time they’ve kissed, but it’s the first time they’ve done anything so public. To be honest, he’s surprised at his own nerve, surprised Richard isn’t even trying to argue against it, but for now it’s nothing; they’re hidden away from the view of passersby and CCTVs and that’s enough.

“Classy,” Richard mumbles, though James can’t take his eyes off rosy, swollen lips.

“Says the man from the Midlands.”

Fingers press against his chest, jabbing with purpose, but Richard laughs.

“Watch it,” he warns. James just silences him with another kiss.

*

They’ve been doing this for a while now; James doesn’t know the exact time it started, the slip from friends to something more happened so easily it was almost natural. He remembers a night of curry and drinking – though not nearly enough to rightly blame – and the way Richard had cornered him against his kitchen counter and they’d stood there for a fair few moments, just breathing the same air. But then James had broken down, slipped a hand into Richard’s hair, and carefully drawn him forwards.

At first they’d fallen into the routine of acting as though it never happened, but then the casual touches started up again, eyes lingering just a little too long, and it had been James who had backed Richard up against the inside of his front door. He’d obviously taken Richard by surprise, as his mouth had still been open in greeting, jaw tense, but tongue slack, but it hadn’t taken long for him to respond.

For a while, things had been great, but James has always known everything has a end and he’s truly not surprised when the facade starts slipping.

*

They fight, probably more than they agree, but they struggle on, as though James’ mind isn’t screaming at him to open his eyes and see the cracks that show through the thin veneer of their relationship.

*

It’s late, it’s been a long day, and James just wants to go home, the car park already empty apart from three cars. Leaves crunch underfoot as he keeps his head down, eyes focussed on his shoes as he gently rattles the car keys in his coat pocket. He doesn’t expect to find someone sitting on the bonnet of his Fiat, least of all Richard, who’s leaning back on his palms, feet swinging above the ground, his face lit up by the tacky streetlight overhead. It’s vulgar and cheap, a laughable imitation of what they once had.

“Get off,” he says, voice low, bitterness tingeing the edges.

Hammond doesn’t move, just tilts his head back defiantly and murmurs, “Make me.”

James doesn’t know why he does it, maybe for the taste of a past he still longs after, maybe just because he can, but either way he pushes apart Richard’s knees and steps between them, leaning over his body and forcing him to lie back against cold metal. He grips each of Richard’s wrists in his hands and pins them either side of his head as he dips down and brings their mouths roughly together. Richard responds with a fight of his own as he struggles and arches against James, biting his lips with sharp, straight teeth.

All James can think of is what they once had, the passion, the energy. They were never young and in love, but they may as well been with nights spent at James’ under the pretence of working late at the office, the sex drawn out, never rushed unless they wanted it to be. For James, it had been like going back to his teenage years, ones he’d previously missed and was making up for tenfold.

Now it feels like he’s fallen back into his aged body, where the joints crack when he moves too fast, too soon, where his hair looks a little greyer each time he looks in the mirror. He shuts his eyes, as though it’ll help stop time and the changes it brings; this is not the place for such thoughts.

He ruts against Richard as Richard curls a leg around his hip and pushes their groins together, the fabric of their jeans building heat where there’s already too much. James isn’t at all hard, but Richard slips a hand between their bodies, rubbing him deftly through the denim and receiving a delayed response. He hardly thinks it’s out of true want, just some animalistic need lurking beneath the surface and the culmination of disgust with himself.

He draws away from Richard’s lips, trailing his wet mouth along the length of Richard’s neck, feeling his pulse racing madly beneath thin skin. He remembers the first time he ever felt its quick pace, the underlying power in feeling the physical response to his actions, but now there’s nothing except knowing it’s all cheap thrills and long lost novelty.

Richard lets out a moan, one that’s brash and crude, nothing at all like the soft gasps he used to let out when James would wait all day for a moment alone, and would then crowd him up against the wall of the hangar and slide a thigh between his legs. Back when things were simpler, or maybe they were just more reckless, but either way, things have changed. James rocks forwards setting up a staccato rhythm that’s fast and to the point, taking all he needs and giving just enough in return. He was never like this before, he used to be more than happy to spread Richard out across the length of his covers and tease him with his mouth and tongue and teeth until they lost track of time.

He doesn’t stop to check and see if Richard’s hard; he can feel something faintly against his thigh, but he can’t tell if it’s the line of buttons on Richard’s jeans or his arousal. He’s pretty sure Richard can sort himself out at any rate, he just focuses on the roll of his body and how hard he can push forwards until his hipbones gives out.

Warm fingers grapple at his back, gripping and tugging at his shirt, pulling it from where it’s neatly tucked down the back of his trousers, his belt doing nothing to stop it. Nails bite into the small of his back, framing his spine and digging into flesh that’s long since lost the tightness of youth. His mind flashes back to a time where the sight of Richard wrapped up loosely in his sheets sent warmth pooling to his stomach. A time when Richard had grumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his stomach, while James had carefully tugged the covers down, mouthed along the curve of his spine, until he’d reached the dimples of Richard’s lower back. Richard had awoken with a gentle moan, James had pushed his legs further apart, and they hadn’t left the bed until gone noon.

Now Richard spreads his legs wider around James’ waist and he does nothing but grip the thigh with chilled fingers, looking only for an end. Richard’s breath clouds in front of his face as he leans back, eyes unfocussed and James wonders if he’s thinking of someone else, of another time, just like he is.

He rolls his hips forward, pushing, grinding, the material of their trousers rubbing far too loudly in the quiet. Fingertips slide down under the waistband of his jeans, pressing and pulling him down harder with each ragged thrust, and he hates the feeling of skin of skin. Richard’s fingers are hot and clammy, branding damp fingerprints against his flesh.

Richard’s faint groan catches in his throat, his grip tightening even more as his back arches, even against James’ weight. He slips his mouth over Richard’s, hoping to silence, or at least dull the noise even though his traitorous body reacts, almost Pavlovian in nature, to it. He can feel the head of his cock rubbing against the inseam of Richard’s trousers and it’s just enough pressure to make his hips buck, sliding Richard far enough up the bonnet that he has to tug him back down towards his groin. Richard lets out another noise, not even James’ are lips enough to stop it as it pushes past their mouths and into the open.

James wishes everything was still enough, the secrets, the stolen kisses, the nights spent in front of the telly, empty cartons of Chinese food spread across the coffee table. He wishes he could do something to stop everything falling apart, but it’s inevitable, just like everything else. Everything dies.

He presses his face into Richard’s shoulder, breathing in the faint remnants of aftershave and the underlying hint of sweat. Richard breathes into his ear, the cool night air clinging to his skin between every warm pant, and he shuts his eyes as he lets himself go, coming in his trousers as though he’s more than twenty years younger. Richard’s gasps turn to high-pitched whines, almost unintelligible until he grunts and James realises he’s been repeating his name.

He holds onto Richard’s hips, his movements slowing as Richard gently tugs him further down on top of him, letting James feel the combined wetness from their releases between them. They’re both out of breath, content to stay for the moment as they are.

This is the one thing James will truly miss, the quiet after the storm, but he knows there are plenty of other storms to offer him such relief. Ones that are safer.

James only waits a moment before he pulls away, stepping out from between Richard’s thighs, pulling the edge of his shirt down and hoping it’ll cover everything up.

Richard’s silent as he slips from the bonnet, his legs visibly shaking, while he tugs his clothing back into place. James avoids looking at the dark stain on his jeans, instead keeps his eyes focused on the way Richard slides his fingers through his hair, the way his chest rises and falls under his thin tee-shirt.

“Is that what you were looking for?” he asks, breaking the awkward silence.

“Yeah,” Richard replies, his smile wavering enough that James notices. It’s a blatant lie and he can tell. “Night,” Richard says, pressing one final chaste kiss against his mouth.

“Night,” he mimics, clearing his throat as the word trips over his tongue halfway. He tries again, with more force, as though he’s trying to tell himself that enough is enough, it’s time to end, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from following Richard’s back until the cold finally gets the better of him and he escapes to the artificial heat in his car.

*

He almost makes it to the car park before Richard sidles up alongside him, hands deep in his pockets, eyes straight ahead.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says and a feeling of inevitability washes over James. This is the moment everything has been building towards.

“You’ve come to your senses then?”

Richard stops, quickly grabbing a hold of James’ elbow to halt him too.

“This isn’t the way I wanted things to end.”

Once, James would have believed the words, but now he knows they can never – will never – be true. He smiles sadly and gently pulls his arm out of Richard’s grasp, turning to walk away.

“I can’t do this to my family,” Richard says at his back, as though the past twelve months have been nothing more than a mistake, a repeated one-night-stand.

James doesn’t argue; they’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. He doesn’t look back, just gets into his car, the door slamming with finality in his wake. As he drives off, he pretends that it doesn’t bother him, but he can’t look away from the sight of Richard in the glowing red of his rear lights, watching until darkness folds over him and he’s nothing more than the night around him.


End file.
